You Can Run, But You Can't Hide
by Susanna N. Graham
Summary: Harry Potter abandoned the wizarding world after the horrific events of his seventh year, and has lived as a muggle ever since. 3 years on, Ron is in big trouble and only Harry can help...will he step up? Or has too much happened for him to go back?
1. Default Chapter

Harry woke up that morning with a very bad headache. For a moment, he forgot everything that had happened those past few years, and his mind automatically sprang to Voldemort...  
  
Then he spotted the empty vodka bottle beside his bed and remembered; rough night.  
  
His head pounding, Harry rolled out of his bed-he was still dressed from the night before, but his clothes were filthy. Quickly, he changed out of them, into a clean shirt and trousers. He considered wearing a tie, but couldn't find any clean ones, so he abandoned the idea. Yawning widely, he went into the bathroom, and picked up his razor, which lay next to his watch.  
  
10:00AM.  
  
'Ten o'clock!' Harry yelped. He dropped his razor, grabbed his glasses, watch, and a handful of hair gel, then raced to his front door. He tore down the stairs, burst out of the entrance to the apartment block and raced down the street, rubbing the gel into his hair as he ran-he was late, again! This was the second time that week, and the fifth time that month- surely they would fire him this time?  
  
He skidded to a halt at the office door, and flung it open. He strode down the long room, ignoring all the rolled eyes and impatient sighs as he knocked things off people's desks, and flung himself into his swivel chair.  
  
'Potter. Fifth time this month. Are you trying to set a record? Or just testing the boundaries?'  
  
Harry sighed heavily, and looked up at his boss. 'Sorry Mr. Gill', he muttered.  
  
'I should hope you are', Mr. Gill grumbled. He bent down so that his mouth was right beside Harry's ear. 'You are walking a thin line, Jonathan. Now I've given you a chance because you seem like a good kid to me-messed up, but good. Don't abuse my good nature, d'you understand? One more strike and you're out.'  
  
'Yessir', mumbled Harry, 'it won't happen again sir.'  
  
Mr. Gill straightened up and plodded on down the office. Harry reached across his desk and switched on the computer. Then he slumped down low, and placed his head in his hands on the desk.  
  
Nothing was going right anymore.  
  
For two years-two glorious years, he had lived his new life; no more famous Harry Potter, no more learning magic, no more Malfoy, no more Voldemort...he was Jonathan Potter now, an ordinary twenty-year-old Mug-  
  
Harry stopped that thought quickly. He wasn't a muggle. He was a human being. Muggle was a nonsense word.  
  
But recently, Harry was no longer able to block out his old life. When people asked him where he got his lightning-bolt scar, he longed to tell the truth, to say where it really came from...but always, he heard himself say 'I was in a car crash when I was little.'  
  
When people asked him where he went to school, he told them St. Brutus'. But every time he told that lie now, he felt a pang of regret that he was denying his real school. It felt like he was betraying Hogwarts...  
  
It was in alcohol that Harry had begun to seek solace. Then he could explain away his headaches easily-for they had started to come back again. The charms and spells he had used to protect himself before throwing away his wand had worn down, and every day, Harry found it harder to hide from the truth. The mysterious deaths were not, as he had determinedly told himself, nothing to do with him. The strange skulls suspended in the air over people's homes were a mystery to most people; but not to Harry. He had stopped reading newspapers, and watching television-it was too painful. Sitting behind a desk all day, pretending to care about his stupid job, was killing him-but what choice did he have? He couldn't go back...not after everything that had happened...  
  
Suddenly, Harry's scar seared with pain. He let out an audible moan, and several heads turned in his direction. He felt as though he was going to throw up. He leapt to his feet and ran to the bathroom, his hand clapped over his mouth. He barely made it in time.  
  
Kneeling in front of the toilet, his head hung low, Harry fought the urge to cry. He clenched his fists tightly, and blocked off the horrible images of what Voldemort must have done now.  
  
No. That wasn't his problem anymore. He couldn't go back. Not now. Not ever.  
  
But he couldn't work today, either. He left the bathroom, and knocked on Mr. Gill's office door.  
  
'Mr. Gill?' He poked his head around the door, 'I feel awful. D'you think I could go home?'  
  
Mr. Gill stared at him in disbelief. 'One more strike, Potter', he said, 'you leave, and you're out.'  
  
Harry studied his boss closely. 'Y'know what?' He asked irritably, 'you can stuff your crummy job, because I don't want it anymore.'  
  
He slammed the door, his scar burning. He strode out of the office, and back to his apartment, which he had vacated less than an hour previously. He sat on his bed for quite some time, keeping his mind blissfully blank-a skill he had picked up, ironically, from learning the magical art of Occlumency. Eventually, he went out to the kitchen and made himself some toast. He stared around his three-room apartment as he munched; he had let it turn into one hell of a mess. He hadn't washed up in weeks, and empty chinese take-away cartons littered every surface. His eyes lingered on a bottle of gin that was lying on its side on the cheese-encrusted microwave. Slowly, hating himself as he did it, he unscrewed the cap, and began to drink.  
  
It was many hours later when Harry finally dragged himself into the bathroom to wash his face. Glancing out the window, he saw that dusk was gathering. He laughed bitterly to himself. Another wasted day in the life of Jonathan Potter. He stared at himself in the mirror; several day's worth of stubble darkened his chin; his hair, which he normally kept tidy nowadays, was a mess; he had huge bags under his eyes, and he was deathly pale. Was this what he had come to? Was this all the rest of his life would be? Getting drunk, sobering up, moving from job to job? He kicked the basin in annoyance, and a sharp pain shot through his foot. He hopped around on it, lost his balance (he obviously hadn't shaken off that half bottle of gin yet) and landed in a heap on the bathroom floor. He didn't even bother getting up.  
  
In his half-stupor, he thought he heard a knock on his apartment door. He sighed-now he was hallucinating! Nobody had called on him since...well, the last visitor had been Hermione and he had certainly told her where to go in no uncertain terms. Two years ago.  
  
There it was again! There was definitely a knock on the door-it sounded quite frantic. Harry scrambled to his feet, and staggered into the hallway.  
  
'Open up!' Hissed someone, in a panicky voice. Harry, his hand halfway to the doorknob, froze.  
  
He knew that voice, he thought drowsily. He knew it from the old days. A part of him, the part that had been struggling to make itself heard for some time now, wanted to open the door. The other part of him, the bitter, resentful, ashamed part told him to recoil.  
  
'For God's sake Harry, open the door or I'll break it down!'  
  
That was it. The former part won. Harry turned the key in the lock, turned the doorknob and opened the door.  
  
His visitor had obviously been leaning against the door, because he landed in a heap at Harry's feet the moment the door opened. Harry, who still wasn't sure who it was, took a step back, and watched as the man pulled himself to his feet, slammed the door violently and heaved a sigh.  
  
Harry squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them, wondering if this could be a dream. How could it really be happening? Why...?  
  
'Harry', the man gasped, 'please...I need help...'  
  
Harry noticed that he was bleeding profusely from a wound in his shoulder. He took in the hair, the tattered robes, the eyes that were so like those of his brother...  
  
He was looking straight into the eyes of Fred Weasley.  
  
And at that moment, Harry knew his new world was shattered. 


	2. Guilty Conscience

'Fred...I...' Harry didn't know what to say. He stood there, several feet away from Fred, his mind in a whirl. What was Fred doing here, after all this time?  
  
'Do you think you could find it in your heart to offer me a seat, instead of staring at me?' Fred asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.  
  
'Oh...sure....um, this is only a small flat, um...c'mon, you can sit on the couch...'  
  
Harry led Fred over to the couch, and he collapsed onto it with a low groan. Several days of stubble shadowed his chin and cheekbones, and he was deathly pale. But Harry could only think of how strange it felt to have Fred sitting in front of him...everything was coming back.  
  
'Where are you going, Harry?' Ron asked nervously.  
  
'I don't know!' Harry shouted, 'I don't know, all right? I just have to get out of here Ron!'  
  
'Please Harry', Hermione pleaded, 'don't do this! It's not your fault, you had to do it!'  
  
'No I didn't!' Harry shouted furiously, throwing his belonging into his trunk, 'it wasn't supposed to be like this! They're dead, and it's all for nothing!'  
  
'Harry, you didn't know!' Ron shouted back, 'just stop for a minute, and sit down, so we can talk this out!'  
  
'NO! Get out of my way Ron.' Harry had finished packing and was pulling his trunk to the door, but Ron blocked the door.  
  
'No', Ron refused, 'you're not leaving.'  
  
'I've already killed two people tonight Ron, a third won't make any difference to me', Harry warned.  
  
For a moment, Ron looked as though he didn't believe Harry, but then realised that he was deadly serious. But still, he stood his ground, a look of fear in his eyes.  
  
'RON!' Harry roared, 'Get out of the way! Now!'  
  
'Make me', Ron retorted. Hermione had her hands over her mouth, and looked terrified.  
  
'Stupefy!' Harry bellowed, pointing his wand directly at Ron.  
  
He stepped over his unconscious friend and left Grimmauld Place, to the sound of Hermione's gulping sobs, and his own heart breaking.  
  
'What...?' Harry began, but he didn't even know what question he wanted to ask.  
  
Fred laughed, his breathing ragged and harsh. 'If you only knew the risks I took to get here!' He stopped laughing, and fell to scrutinizing Harry. 'You look a right state', he remarked.  
  
'You don't look so great yourself', Harry retorted, although the banter was a painful reminder of the old days...  
  
Fred sniffed and heaved a huge sigh. He began to inspect the wound in his shoulder. 'Interesting', he said softly, 'powerful curse. I've never seen this one before.'  
  
'Who did that to you?' Harry asked, despite the alarm bells that were sounding in his head.  
  
'I had a little head-to-head with a Ministry wizard on the way here', Fred replied calmly, 'can't go anywhere without being spotted, when there's a price on your head.'  
  
'What...?' Harry felt thoroughly bewildered and was beginning to wonder if he wasn't hallucinating all this, 'why...?'  
  
'D'you know you haven't finished a sentence since you let me in?' Fred told him, raising an eyebrow, 'yeah, I'm wanted. Me and George both have five thousand galleons on our heads. Fudge is still Minister, but we all know who's really in charge.' Fred's expression darkened, and Harry looked away. 'Why did you come here, Fred?' He asked abruptly, 'what do you want?'  
  
'It's funny', Fred replied, ignoring Harry's question, and looking around the flat instead, 'when you left, I imagined you'd make something of yourself.'  
  
'I have made something of myself!' Harry said angrily, pinching himself to check if this was real. Unfortunately, it was.  
  
Fred raised his eyebrows sceptically. 'The only thing you've made, Harry', he said coolly, 'is a very big mess.'  
  
Harry's scar gave a particularly nasty throb, and he clamped his hand over it. Fred let out a gasp, and leaned forwards, his face contorted with pain. 'Can you get me a bowl of water or something?' He choked, 'I should probably clean this out.'  
  
Harry, who still felt as though this was some sort of dream, hurried into the kitchen, and filled a small bowl with water, and grabbed some plasters from one of the drawers as an afterthought. When he re-entered the room, Fred was lying back again, his face grey, his eyes closed. He opened them, and looked at the plasters, then at Harry. 'I'd say they'll be a massive help', he said sarcastically, 'but I suppose it's the thought that counts.' He pulled the bowl from Harry's hands violently, spilling a considerable amount of its contents, and ripped the left sleeve of his robe off, dipped it in the water, and began to dab gingerly at the wound. 'I always liked you, Harry', he said, his voice oddly tight, 'I always...I dunno, I thought you were a good mate. You gave us that money to start the business, and you and Ron were inseparable. What happened, Harry? Was it Voldemort? Did he do some sort of spell that turned you into a selfish git? Or is this how you always were, but we were just too stupid to see it?'  
  
Harry clenched his fists. 'Did you come here to insult me?' He asked furiously, 'Because if you did, you can bloody well get out!'  
  
Fred sat forward in on the sofa, and stared at Harry in a most unnerving way. 'I didn't come here to insult you', he said coldly, 'I came here to ask for your help.' He spat out the last word as though it pained him to even say it.  
  
Harry's jaw dropped. 'What d'you need my help for?' He asked, puzzled.  
  
Fred tight the torn sleeve tightly around his arm with some difficulty, slapping Harry's hand away when he tried to help. When he had finished he looked up at Harry once more, his expression unfathomable.  
  
'You read about it, didn't you?' He said softly.  
  
'About what?' Harry asked nervously. Even as he said it, memories began to flood his brain-long supressed, ignored memories that caused him great pain and fear.  
  
'I don't understand, Harry', Fred replied, shaking his head in disbelief, 'I just don't understand at all. We all thought you'd come back then. We asked Luna Lovegood, and she said she saw you in her crystal ball...you were packing...but you never came...we thought that since it was Hermione...and you were always friendly with that Thomas kid too...'  
  
'No', Harry murmured, 'please Fred, stop...'  
  
Headlines flashed across his mind's eyes; DENTISTS FOUND DEAD IN SURGERY; COUPLE KILLED AT CLOSING-TIME; DENTISTS SCARED TO DEATH AT WORK; TEENAGER ARRESTED FOR DOUBLE HOMICIDE...  
  
'You must've known, Harry', Fred continued ruthlessly, 'you must have! It was too weird to be a coincidence.'  
  
Dean Thomas' face was swimming in front of Harry's eyes...Dean Thomas at his trial, pleading guilty...  
  
'And it wasn't just Dean either', Fred said softly, 'we only began to notice the pattern about six months ago, but we were never able to save people in time...Seamus Finnigan, Padma Patil, Terry Boot, Hannah Abbott....all people who went to school with you. All people you liked and got along with. And suddenly, they were becoming murderers, killing dozens of muggles, and some wizards and witches too. Dean's the only one who's been caught. The rest are still at large. But still, Dumbledore told us not to go looking for you. And we followed orders. But when Ron went missing-'  
  
'What?' Harry was certain his heart skipped a beat. His scar burned once more, and he felt momentarily numb with shock.  
  
Ron...  
  
'Wh-what happened? When? What...?'  
  
Fred's voice was low and full of hatred when he spoke. Harry had never seen him like this-there was a pain and a cold fury in his eyes that had not been there three years before. 'He went out on a mission with Tonks and Katie Bell', he said, his voice strained, his fists clenched, 'they were ambushed by Death Eaters. Tonks and Katie were stunned, and when they came round....Ron was gone. That was a month ago. George and I couldn't take it anymore, so we started looking for you. Making this dump unplottable was smart, Harry, but we have ways of locating people. I found you, with great difficulty, this afternoon.'  
  
Harry couldn't really hear Fred anymore; he could see Ron clearly now: Ron being pulled into the Whomping Willow; Ron clutching his broken leg; Ron vomiting slugs; Ron playing quidditch; Ron lying on the ground, stunned, as Harry stepped over him...  
  
Harry felt himself being shaken violently, and snapped back to the present. Fred was looking at him was a kind of frustration and desperation. He was still very pale, and blood was seeping through his makeshift bandage. 'Harry, you know he won't stop until you come back and face him', he whispered, 'forget the past...just come back and face him.'  
  
'That'd be suicide', Harry gasped, 'he's won, I can't kill him, you know that! You think that if he kills me he'll let Ron go? Fat chance!'  
  
'You can kill him!' Fred cried, 'with a little help...it's not like we couldn't get the amulet from him...'  
  
'How?' Harry asked incredulously, 'you think he'll just give it to us? No Fred, I lost...I did what he wanted me to do, I fell into his trap again, and I did a terrible thing. There is no going back.'  
  
Fred turned away in disgust. 'You've turned into a coward', he spat, 'abandoning all your friends, leaving us to rot! Our world is crumbling around us, and you don't care, because you decided you'd had enough. Well that's not really good enough Harry, 'cos there are a lot of people depending on you. If you came back, it would give us some hope-all we've had recently are failed missions, disappearances, and deaths-to have Harry Potter come back to fight with us would be a morale boost unlike any other!'  
  
'What, you think people want to see me after what happened?' Harry asked angrily, 'you think they'll cheer me on and wish me good luck? They'd probably be hoping that Voldemort'd kill me, you know that as well as I do!'  
  
'Things can change a lot in three years', Fred snarled, 'nobody who counts believes that rubbish Fudge came out with! We told the true story to everyone we could, and most people believed us! Even those who didn't still think you're our only hope, so forget the past Harry, and come back! If you won't do it for everyone who believes in you, at least do it for Ron. I don't care what your reasons are for helping-even if it's just to clear your conscience-once you help.'  
  
'What do you expect me to do?' Harry demanded again, 'they've probably killed Ron by now, I can't do anything to help him! Anyway, if you all needed me so badly, why'd nobody come looking-'  
  
WHAM.  
  
Despite Fred's weakened state, he seemed to have no trouble in grabbing Harry by the collar and slamming him against the wall. He winced in pain, but did not loosen his grip, which was strangling Harry ever so slightly.  
  
'Don't you dare ask why nobody came looking for you', Fred hissed, 'because you can't imagine the trouble we went to, after you sent Hermione packing, to find you again, despite what Dumbledore said. And don't you dare dismiss my brother like that.' He released Harry, and gave him a shove that was full of barely-restrained violence. 'I already lost one brother', he breathed, 'I'm not giving up on this one just yet.'  
  
'You...what?' Harry blinked. His brain had gone into overload, and he could barely process all the information Fred was forcing on him.  
  
Fred smiled grimly. 'That's a story for another day', he replied. He folded his arms, and stared at Harry, waiting.  
  
All Harry could think of was Ron pleading with him to stay...Ron standing by him no matter what...Ron putting his own life in danger for Harry...  
  
Fred pulled a small, dirty pouch from his robes. Harry saw that it contained some Floo Powder.  
  
'What's your choice, Harry?' He asked calmly, 'stay here, drink yourself into a depression and waste your life...or come with me, and make a real difference.'  
  
'Now?' Harry whispered.  
  
'Now.' Fred's reply was firm, 'Now, or never. I've opened the Floo Network to this dump for a few hours-all strictly illegal, of course. So it's now, or never Harry.'  
  
Harry stared at Fred's grimy, bloody hand, and his scar seared with pain once more.  
  
He took a deep breath, and reached for the Floo Powder. 


End file.
